


Hurts Like Heaven

by empireoffclouds



Category: Football RPF, real madrid
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cristiano is a really good friend, I love how Iker calls Sergio nene, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Sergio is very naive, This is very emotional tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 08:59:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14161329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empireoffclouds/pseuds/empireoffclouds
Summary: “Do you? Do you love him, Sergio?” Cristiano’s voice is quieter now; gentler. It wraps around Sergio as dry sobs run throughout his body.“God, yes- yes. I love him, Cris,” Sergio all but blubbers into the fabric. His heart feels like it’s bleeding out, but it’s the best Sergio has felt in four days.“Then why did you never say anything?





	Hurts Like Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first Seriker fic, I think I’d always been scared of writing them because they’re my favourite ship and I didn’t want to fuck it up, so I really hope you all like this.

It started with Sergio coming into Iker’s room on nights when they were all staying at Valdebebas, when he couldn't sleep because, honestly, he had just needed to feel another person’s body heat and rhythmic breaths to remind him that he wasn't alone. It had soothed the anxiety licking at the bottom of his gut long enough for sleep to finally come to him.

  
It wasn't even supposed to _be_ like that.

  
But as the days bled into weeks and the weeks into months, Sergio found himself sliding into Iker’s bed more often than he did his own. He couldn't say exactly why he did it, but something about knowing Iker was only a heartbeat away made his restless soul simmer like nothing else ever had.

So when he finds himself creeping into Iker’s room and sliding in next to him yet again, skin frosty and muscles sore from the extra practice he had put in, Sergoo isn't surprised. He just allows himself to snuggle in and be pulled close, Iker’s arms snug around his _nene’s_ toned torso. Sergio lets Iker bury his nose into his soft hair that smells like peaches and shampoo because it isn't like he can't _not_ stop this.

It isn't like Sergio has to sleep with Iker. He's a grown man. It would be ridiculous for Sergio to need to feel Iker’s arms wrapped securely around him to sleep. It's just that Iker’s mattress is better than his own, and it helps to have a tall, muscular, Iker-shaped heater next to him when it's this cold. Plus, it's quieter in Iker’s room without Cristiano’s motor-like sinuses going off all night. That's all.

Sergio ignores the small part of himself that says otherwise. He ignores the way it brings up the stupid feeling he gets whenever he sees Iker’s cheeks scrunch up in a giddy smile because even if he _did_ feel something when Iker smiled at him, Sergio wouldn't sacrifice his dreams for it. He wouldn't sacrifice their careers for it.

Hypothetically, if he were to feel butterflies erupt under his skin whenever he saw Iker - which he _doesn't_ \- Sergio knows that the press would notice. He knows that the fans would notice. They would notice the changes in their interactions and undoubtedly document it on their blogs and twitters. That kind of news would spread like wildfire and inevitably burn down everything they all had worked so hard for. Those stupid _nonexistent_ feelings Sergio does not have for Iker would destroy them.

He isn’t stupid, he knows how present homophobia still is not only in Spain, but in the whole football industry. He knows so many players who are still hiding their true identities, even after retirement. He knows what simple rumours can do to a player’s career, he’s seen it.

He takes solace in the thought that if the fans and the press haven’t noticed anything terribly different, then nothing _is_ different.

Sergio ignores the voice in his head that tells him that people are asking more questions about him and Iker. Sergio ignores it all and revels on the way Iker gently squeezes him tighter, his body curling even further around the taller man’s own.

When Iker sighs and buries his nose further into Sergio’s hair, Sergio shuts his eyes tighter, willing his heart to calm down because they're just friends. He's only sleeping with Iker because he can't sleep on his own terrible mattress in a cold room with Cristiano snoring.

They're just friends and it doesn't matter what they do because Sergio could stop anytime he wanted to.

Just to prove it, he makes a promise to himself that this is the last time he's going to sleep with Iker.

It's the last time, he swears.

(He comes back tomorrow.)

//////

It’s not until the 45th time Sergio silently creeps into Iker’s bed that the older man finally speaks up.

“ _Nene_... what are you doing?” Iker asks, voice soft and strained, like this isn't something they've been doing for the better half of last year.

Sergio freezes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Iker sits up a bit, eyes locked intensely with Sergio’s own, “what are you doing? Why do you keep coming in to sleep with me?”

“I-” Sergio swallows thickly, pulse racing, “I don't know what you mean. I just- You know, like-...” He can't seem to find the words to explain himself, even though he's told himself these same excuses countless times before. The words just won't come, and Iker is looking at Sergio expectantly, like he’s been waiting a while to ask this question.

“No, I don't know, Sergio,” Iker murmurs. Sadness permeates throughout his words and expression, and for a brief moment, Sergio forgets that this is okay - That _they're_ okay.

“You've been sleeping in my bed for like, four months now. What- What are we even doing anymore, Sergio? What do you want from me?”

The way Iker talks, the way his words twist sharply around Sergio’s racing heart, make Sergio think that maybe, they aren't okay. Maybe they haven't been okay in a long time.

Sergio thinks hard for a moment, trying desperately to remember if Iker had been acting any different towards him, but everything is too fuzzy and jumbled. He can't think when Iker looks like that, like he’s tired and sad and disappointed _because_ of Sergio.

“Iker… I don't want anything from you,” Sergio speaks quietly, his words heavy and thick on his tongue. He hasn't felt this uncomfortable around Iker since his debut, when Iker was a bit too big and intimidating for Sergio to feel perfectly fine around him.

He hasn't felt this distant from Iker since they were strangers.

Iker laughs thinly and shakes his head slowly, like the weight of his thoughts have doubled its size. “Yeah, I guess that's the problem, huh? You don't want anything from me. You just come into my room, into my bed whenever you feel like it. You leave and come back and leave and - You never want _anything_ from me.”

Iker looks like he's cracking. Tears are starting to gather around his beautiful blue eyes and his hands are twisted in the sheet that's pooled around his legs. Sergio feels himself start to crack too.

“What- Iker, what are you talking about? I don't understand.” Sergio reaches out to hold him, to try and help hold his pieces together, but Iker jerks back.

“Of course you don't, Sergio.”

Sergio watches helplessly as Iker fists at the tears in his eyes. “But it's okay because you don't want anything from me, right? So you can just come and go as you please, right? It doesn't affect you because you don't want anything!” Iker’s voice raises in pitch and hot, angry tears spill from his eyes.

Sergio can't help but watch as his most important person tries desperately to not start sobbing in front of him. Iker’s shoulders shake and there are hiccups coming from his parted lips, but Sergio can't bring himself to do anything.

He doesn't understand at all. He doesn't understand why Iker got angry and he certainly doesn't understand why he's breaking down. Sergio has never felt more helpless.

“Iker, I don't know what's going on. Tell me what's going on; what did I do wrong?” The room is silent besides the quiet noises coming from Iker, but Sergio feels dizzy with overstimulation.

In their many years of friendship, Sergio has seen Iker angry more times than he can count. Iker gets frustrated with himself when he can't save a goal; Iker gets annoyed when Marcelo eats the last of his fruits. Never has Iker ever been genuinely mad at Sergio, however. He'd always just sigh and walk away, eventually coming back in a few hours after his anger had passed.

Right now, though, Iker is furious, and Sergio knows that it's wholly directed at him. He sees how Iker’s teeth grind together harshly while his hands curl against the fabric of his white t-shirt. Sergio sees how Iker’s body tenses like he's about to charge at someone.

Sergio has never felt like a bigger piece of shit, but he still doesn't _understand_. Everything had been fine yesterday. He and Iker had greeted each other at breakfast, but it hadn't been awkward, and they had gone through practice with no arguments. Nothing had gone wrong.

But the way Iker was shaking apart before him told Sergio that he had missed something big.

Sergio wants to reach out to Iker again, pull him into his arms and force the pain away, but Iker had moved away last time. He had flinched like Sergio had slapped him and Sergio can't feel the tips of his fingers, so he just digs his nails into the flesh of his thighs until he feels a little less hopeless.

“You need to leave, Sergio,” Iker says, voice wavering and eyes focused on a spot on the bed between where they're sitting.

The words knock into Sergio like a physical weight. They press and crush and smother the little bit of air he had left in his lungs, and suddenly Sergio can't remember the last time he was able to breathe without Iker there, by his side.

But Iker is pulling away now. He's sheltering off from Sergio like he never has before. Sergio has always known that Iker had walls, but there had always been a space just big enough for him to fit through. There had always been room for Sergio, but now there's not and Sergio feels numb.

“Iker- _Iker_. Wait, I don't underst-” Sergio tries to tell Iker that he's sorry, but the words won't come out. He can feel them; they're clogging up his throat and making it hard to breathe. Sergio feels wild with his want to tell Iker that he doesn’t know what's going on. He doesn't understand why this is all happening, why they're tearing apart when just last night they had been sleeping soundly, pressed together like lovers.

 _Like lovers_.

“No. Get out. I don't want- I can't, Sergio. _Nene_ , please- _please_. Leave me alone.” Iker’s voice keeps cracking and pitching in weird places, like his heart is tearing itself apart to try and come out with his words.

Sergio looks at Iker with wide, unbelieving eyes. There's no hint of joking in his voice; there's no playful smile to tell Sergio that he's forgiven and this is all just an act.

There's no love. There's only their breaths, loud and harsh and hiccuping against the silence that seems to be shattering the world Sergio had thought was bulletproof.

Sergio knows that right now, if he pushed a little bit more, if he stayed and held Iker and forced him to calm down, to talk to him, Iker would cave. Iker would cave and Sergio would hide him away until the tears dried and the anger simmered.

But. But… Iker looks broken with his sad eyes and trembling shoulders; he looks exhausted with his head hung low and heart barely hanging onto the end of his sleeve. Sergio doesn’t understand why this is happening, but he does know that Iker can't take much more of whatever _this_ is.

“I… Okay,” Sergio breathes out, heart clenching fiercely at the look of disbelief and utter relief that comes over Iker’s face at his words. “I'll leave. I- I don’t know what I did, Iker, but I'm… I'm sorry.”

Sergio’s apology brings more tears rushing out of Iker’s eyes, his built shoulders collapsing under the weight of something Sergio just isn't aware of.

Slowly, but still at a pace fast enough to make Sergio ache to go back, he pulls himself out of Iker’s bed, the warm sheets that still smell like a mixture of Iker and himself slipping from his legs. Iker refuses to look at Sergio, regardless of the fact that Sergio _knows_ he can feel him staring, _knows_ that Iker is well aware of the tears starting to gather around his eyes, too.

But yet, Iker doesn't stop him. Iker doesn't reach out and pull Sergio back into him like he always does. Instead, he wraps his arms around his own heaving chest and lays himself down, facing away from Sergio.

Every step Sergio takes forward feels like mistake, like he should know better than to walk away from Iker while he's shaking and barely holding himself from falling apart. Every creak of the floor sounds like a warning telling Sergio that if he leaves, if he doesn't turn around and tell Iker something, _anything_ , he's never going to get the chance to again.

Every single bone in his body tells him that there's a degree of severity that Sergio just isn’t grasping. There's an unspoken promise of destruction that lies thick in the air, but Sergio keeps walking because Iker had asked him to.

Iker told him to.

Sergio doesn't know what he did, but even as the door clicks shut behind him, he can hear the full bellied sobs of Iker, and he knows that he really, truly fucked up this time.

//////

“Cris... what do you do if you love someone?” The words roll off of Sergio’s thick tongue, sour tasting and stale. He hasn’t been keeping count, but the bags under his eyes are indicators of the last four days that he has spent without Iker. Everything aches, but nothing more so than Sergio’s heart.

The guilt has weighed it down too much and made it too heavy for Sergio’s fragile chest to handle. Four days have passed, and Iker still won’t talk to him. Four days and Sergio still hears quiet crying coming from the other room.

“What? Why?” Cristiano asks in reply, voice cutting through the layer of blankets Sergio has spread over himself. Cristiano is sitting on his bed not even five feet away from Sergio’s, but it feels like he’s thousands of miles away and it makes Sergio feel more isolated than ever before.

“Just- answer the question,” Sergio pleads, too tired to explain the mess he’s in. He just wants to sleep. He wants to sleep and wake up back in Iker’s arms, happy and smiling once again. Sergio’s heart thumps brutally at the thought.

“Ah- Um,” Sergio hears Cristiano shift and clear his throat, “Let them know, I guess? Sergio, I’m not really sure what you want from me.”

 _What do you_ _want from me?_ Sergio inhales sharply, throat closing in at the memory of that night. Images of a crying and broken Iker flash through his screwed shut eyes and suddenly Sergio can’t breathe- can’t think.

“I-” His voice cracks pathetically and Sergio curls tighter around the pillow in his arms, knuckles turning white with the force of his grip, “I don’t- I don’t know, Cris. It’s just that everything was fine, but now it isn’t- and- and I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Hot tears prickle at the corners of Sergio’s eyes, breaking off more of his dignity and pride. He’s a grown man damn it. He hates himself for each and every tear that falls because what right does he have to be crying? He’s selfish. Selfish and dense and so _stupid_. Iker’s been hurt for so much longer and because of much more significant reasons, but here Sergio is, almost bawling over not knowing something.

“Hey-” Cristiano’s voice is barely heard over the roaring of Sergio’s self hatred, “- Sergio. Are you crying?” Sergio doesn't reply. He just digs his nails into the fabric of his pillowcase and grits his teeth against the bitter taste of regret in his mouth.

When Sergio doesn’t say anything, Cristiano goes quiet for a long time. At first, Sergio doesn’t notice it; he’s too focused on trying not to let any sounds or tears slip past his defenses, but after what he guesses is a few minutes, Sergio realises that Cris never replied.

The thought that he’s fucked up yet another relationship barely has a chance to cross his mind before he hears Cristiano speak up.

“I don’t know what exactly happened, either, Sergio. I think that the only person who does know is Iker,” Cristiano’s voice is bold, and it soothes Sergio a fraction. He doesn’t care to question how Cris knew he was talking about Iker. “But… What you do when you love someone is up to you. I think, when you love someone, you start to do things that you don’t really realize. Like cook for then, or want to be around them... or sleep with them.”

Sergio allows Cristiano’s words to soak in, hands trembling and lungs infinitesimally too small.

“Sometimes you hurt them, too. Sometimes you hurt them even if you don’t want to” Sergio’s heart lurches with more guilt and he tries to stop the words before they come out, but it’s too late.

“I fucked up, Cris. God, I fucked up so bad, but I don’t know what I did. I’ve spent four days thinking back to everything and I can’t figure it out.” The words hurt on the way out; they scrape Sergio’s throat and blister his lips, but he still can’t stop them. Four days worth of doubt and hatred can’t be stopped by something as flimsy as Sergio self control.

“Did you really think about everything? All of it?” the portuguese sounds like he’s speaking with a young child, tone soft and steady but the question thunders violently in Sergio’s ears.

“Yeah, yeah, I did-”

“Sergio. Stop lying,” Cristiano’s tone is still soft and steady, but it feels like Sergio’s been hit. “Why do you sleep with Iker?” The air around Sergio collapses. “Why do you sneak into his room?”

“I- I-” The same thing that happened with Iker is happening again. The words won’t come out. They’re right there; Sergio can feel them in the back of his throat, hot and burning. He knows why. It took him four days, but he knows why he sleeps with Iker.

“I?” Cristiano prompts.

“I don’t-” He can’t breathe. There’s plenty of air around him, but Sergio’s lungs are filling with the words that have been desperately clawing at his heart since the first time he woke up with Iker in his arms.

“Yes, you do, Sergio. You know. You know exactly why; otherwise you wouldn’t have asked me. Otherwise you wouldn’t feel this bad.” The spaces between his ribs ache and Sergio can’t feel his fingers. He knows why. _He knows_.

“Cris, I- I can’t-” Patterns are beginning to swirl behind Sergio’s eyes from the pressure of how tight he has them clenched, but Sergio can still see Iker on the back of his eyelids. He always sees Iker. Iker laughing. Iker smiling.

Iker crying. Crying because of him.

“Why do you like hugging him so much? Why do you like his bed? Why do you like him, Sergio?” Cristiano’s voice sounds closer, like he stood up and walked forward, but everything seems so much louder now. Sergio can barely hear anything over the sound of his blood rushing and Iker’s sobs in his ears.

Everything hurts. Memories and revelations cut into his mind and scorch the inside of his heart. Every breath Sergio takes is filled with ashes and overpowering guilt.

“Sergio. Why did you ask me about love? Why did you lock yourself in our room? Why-”

Sergio snaps.

“Because! Because I love him, Cristiano! I love him so fucking much I don’t know what to do with myself!” The ashes and guilt leave along with Sergio’s confession, lifting the weight that had been getting heavier with every passing day.

Sergio takes a deep, shuddering breath and curls even further into his pillow, eyes screwed tighter in an attempt to block out everything around him. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to confront this because once he does, there’s no going back.

Something tells Sergio that he’s past the point of no return already.

“Do you? Do you love him, Sergio?” Cristiano’s voice is quieter now; gentler. It wraps around Sergio as dry sobs run throughout his body.

“God, yes- yes. I love him, Cris,” Sergio all but blubbers into the fabric. His heart feels like it’s bleeding out, but it’s the best Sergio has felt in four days.

“Then why did you never say anything? You know that Iker would give the moon and the stars for you, don’t you? You’ve seen how he looks at you- we’ve all seen it. Us, the fans-”

“Exactly,” Sergio cuts Cristiano off with nothing more than a whisper. He feels drained after his confession, limbs tingling and ribs expanding with each breath. “Everyone has seen, Cris. The fans- they’ve noticed. What if-” Fear seizes at Sergio’s throat, “What if I’m the reason his career falls apart? What if- What if this is what ends us?”

For the first time since they started talking, Sergio turns his head to meet Cristiano’s eyes, body still bent around his pillow. Sergio can only imagine the wild look in his red rimmed eyes, but Cristiano holds his gaze steady. He’s incredible like that.

“I can’t do that to everyone, Cris. I can’t put my feelings above our careers.”

“What makes you think that your feelings are the only ones at stake? Do you think Iker’s been crying because he enjoys it?” His words are harsh, but his tone is still soft. Cristiano takes a seat next to Sergio, crossing his legs and leaning back against the bed’s headboard.

Sergio pauses. Guilt settles at the base of his lungs at the mention of Iker crying. He still can’t feel his fingertips. “‘Course not.”

“Sergio, if this is something that’s worth it; if this is something that you both want, we’re not going to stop you. It isn’t like you have to announce this to the world, either. It’ll have to be a secret- but it can still be something,” Cristiano looks like every bit like a wise leader sitting at the edge of Sergio’s bed, but doubt still grips onto the base of Sergio’s spine.

What if…

“What if it doesn’t work out?” Sergio murmurs, hand reaching up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. The lump in his throat is slowly growing again.

Cristiano hums and crosses his arms. “Then it doesn’t work out. But at least you tried.” When Sergio doesn't look convinced, Cristiano continues, “You could have failed at being a footballer, right? Life is unpredictable in every aspect, Sergio. Anything could happen at any given moment, but we’re all stuck here, living regardless of that fact. Why let this one chance of a bad outcome stop you when there are things in this world worse than loving someone?”

Sergio chews on his lip. Technically speaking, Cristiano is right, but doubt and fear are crushing back down on his lungs and Sergio still can’t feel his fingertips.

“I’m not trying to force you into anything, but you have to go talk to Iker, Sergio. He hasn’t let anyone into the room besides Pepe, and you know how Pepe is with comfort.” Sergio hides his face into the pillow and tries once again to quell the guilt bubbling up in his gut.

A few tense moments pass before Sergio hears Cristiano sigh and get off his bed. “It isn’t fair that Iker is crying by himself, Sergio. You know that he deserves to hear why this is going on because otherwise, he’s going to keep blaming himself.”

“It-” Sergio inhales sharply, “It isn’t his fault, though.”

“I know that, but he doesn’t. It’s Iker. He’d blame himself before even thinking about blaming anyone else- especially you. He’d go through any lengths to make sure you’re okay.” A pathetic sound comes from the back of Sergio’s throat. “Even if that meant hurting himself. Maybe it’s time that you return the favor.”

Cristiano leaves with that; his words settling into the bottom of Sergio’s heart and swimming in his vision.

He’s right; Sergio knows he’s right. Iker would do anything for Sergio.

Even letting him sleep in the same bed regardless of if it hurt him.

Sergio thinks back to all the times he would wake up feeling someone’s eyes on him. He thinks back to all the times that he woke up to Iker laying awake, but still cradling Sergio in his embrace. At the time, he had written them off as coincidence, but maybe... Maybe there had been more to sharing a bed than Sergio had thought.

Sergio sits up slowly, head and heart weighed down with guilt, longing, and everything in between. His fingertips are still numb, but he lays them in his lap and studies them. He studies the way his fingers crease and fold under his palms, shaking and red from how hard he was gripping the pillow.

The spaces between Sergio’s fingers, his ribs, his lips, feel achingly empty and a pang of loneliness spikes through his body. He misses Iker. He misses the warmth and the smile and the way his hands used to curl around his own at night.

Being brutally honest had never been a strong point of Sergio’s, but he takes time to run his tongue over his teeth and sort through the mess his heart and head have made of himself. Sergio forces himself to think about why he slept with Iker so many times, why having Iker to himself was just never enough, why he couldn’t sleep without the other next to him.

Sergio sits down for the first time since this all started and thinks about why he didn’t admit that he loved Iker sooner.

//////

Sergio takes two more days to confront Iker. The talk with Cristiano had helped him to heal, but every time he approached Iker’s door and thought about how Iker had flinched and told him to leave, Sergio would tuck his head and run back.

He knows that he’s a coward. He knows that he kept continuously hurting Iker, but he couldn’t help it. Love is a fickle thing, but so is pride.

On the seventh day after his and Iker’s fight, Sergio finds himself in front of Iker’s door once again. His resolve is weak, but stronger this time, and Sergio pushes past the dead weight of guilt and dread and knocks on the door, hand shaking. He couldn’t take it anymore. The fact that Iker was upset because of something that Sergio refused to see made bile rise to his throat each time it crossed his mind.

Iker doesn’t respond, but Sergio was expecting that. Hesitating, Sergio tries to rationalize leaving and just forever staying in a tense and awkward limbo with Iker. He could make it work, he thinks. Sure, it would be weird being in the same team as him, but Sergio could avoid confronting his problems. Just like before.

Sergio pushes the door open.

Iker isn’t balled on his bed, sobbing his heart out like Sergio was expecting. He isn’t the shattered, broken mess that everyone made him out to be, but that notion was slightly unrealistic to begin with. Iker is strong when he needs to be, after all.

Instead, Sergio finds him sleeping. Something unfurls at the sight of Iker curled around himself and breathing peacefully, and Sergio yearns to join him. It would be so easy to just slip in next to him like he had done so many times before and ignore everything. Sergio could forget that anything bad had happened and wake up in Iker’s arms again, like before. His legs move until he’s at the edge of Iker’s bed before he has a chance to register that he did.

Just seeing Iker is easing the anxiety and stress that had built up between Sergio’s shoulders. More than anything, Sergio aches to touch Iker, to feel his soft skin against his own and be able to count the eyelashes that flutter in his sleep. Every part of Sergio aches for the man in front of him and he almost gives in. Almost. His hand stops halfway to Iker’s hair.

It would be too easy to just reach out and pull Iker into his arms, but Sergio knows that Iker deserves better.

Iker deserves someone who could process feelings and words without needing nearly a full week to get the guts to simply talk. Iker deserves someone who would sleep in the same bed without bullshitting their way through every excuse under the sun.

Sergio’s throat tightens and he swallows down the feeling of inadequacy that has coated his tongue. He’s just turning around when Iker turns over to face him, eyes puffy with sleep and red rimmed from tears.

“ _Nene_?” Iker asks, voice soft and hoarse, lips barely parting. Sergio freezes and tries to remember why he ever felt like he didn’t love Iker like this, softly, when no cameras are around and it’s only them.

“I- uh- I was just leaving. I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Sergio murmurs back. He can’t feel his fingertips and Iker is looking at him like he used to. He’s looking up at Sergio with adoration and longing and everything in between.

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind.” Iker sits up and Sergio can feel his breath leaving along with his confidence. Now that Iker is in front of him, his chest feels tight with fear and the need to escape. He doesn’t want to talk about what happened. He doesn’t want to be here. He just wants to go back into his room and wish it all away.

Iker seems timid, almost. His hands aren’t balled into fists, but they aren’t reaching out for Sergio either and that alone makes him burn for everything to be back to the way it used to be. There’s a silence that Sergio doesn’t understand, but Iker breaks it with a cough and pats the space next him.

“You can sit if you want to.” Sergio sees how Iker doesn’t meet his eyes. His knees shake.

“Alright… Thank you. Um.” The mattress feels foreign and heavy underneath him, but Sergio still feels the memories seeping into his skin. He feels the late nights and early mornings they spent together, between the sheets, pressed together like lovers.

 _Like lovers_.

“I,” Sergio starts, hands clenching his sweatpants and heart bleeding for the gorgeous, sleep riddled man in front of him, “I talked to Cristiano.” Iker doesn’t turn to him, continues staring holes into the floor in front of him, but Sergio assumes he’s listening from the pained look on his face. Iker’s chest is expanding unevenly and Sergio has the inane desire to press his hand to his chest to see for himself.

“I, um, I talked to him about what happened.” Iker tenses. “And I wanted to say that I’m sorry.” Sergio’s eyes follow in a line down Iker’s face and wonders when he started looking so sad.

“You already said sorry, _nene_ ,” Iker sounds tired and beaten, like he gave everything to a marathon only to come in second place. Sergio figures that it isn’t easy loving someone like himself.

“No, I mean. Sorry for real,” Sergio hesitates on his next words, knowing that once he brings it up, once he dives into this unknown, it could be the end of everything he’s ever cared about. He can feel the electricity of his confession on the tip of his tongue, amplifying the feeling of sacredness surrounding them.

Sergio turns to Iker. He sees the tear stains on Iker’s shirt and how his hair is greasy and unkempt. He sees the months of sadness etched into every line on Iker’s face and the way his shoulders sag. Iker is beautiful and Sergio can’t feel his fingertips.

He jumps head first and prays that Iker will catch him.

“I wanted to say sorry because I know what I did, now,” Sergio whispers, reverence on his lips and hope strangling his heart.

Iker snaps his eyes towards Sergio. “What?”

“I know what I did wrong, Iker. And I’m sorry. You deserve better than me.” Sergio doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but it wasn’t Iker crying. Panic flairs in his gut, ugly and cruel, and Sergio feels like he’s falling. Iker curls into himself again, angry tears falling from his eyes in short bursts. Before long, the dam that was just barely holding up busts, and Iker starts sobbing.

“Iker?” Sergio wants to reach out. He wants to reach out so badly, but the memory of Iker flinching and drawing away from him has his hand retreating like he’s been burned. Instead, he wraps his arms around himself and digs his fingernails into his sides.

“God- you can’t-” Iker’s wet hiccups interrupt him on every breath. “You can’t come in here and do this to me- Sergio- You _can’t_. I can’t handle this, I can’t do it.”

Iker’s cries echo in Sergio’s heart.

“You can’t apologize for me loving you. I won’t let you.” Iker’s shuddering words stab sharply into Sergio. “This was my fault. This was all my fault.”

“No!” Sergio interrupts, voice too loud for the straining silence that was laid around them, “nothing was your fault, Iker. _Nothing_.” His words sound rushed and desperate, but Sergio tries to push every ounce of feeling he has into them. “This is all on me. I’m the one who started coming into your bed-” Iker starts rocking slightly, the movement swaying the bed ever so slightly, “- I’m the one who didn’t ask or talk about it. This is all on me. All of it.”

Sergio barely hears Iker’s quiet, “No.” His insides have melted down into a boiling lava and Sergio can’t contain it. He can’t contain any of it.

“I’m the one who fucked things up, Iker. It was me. And I’m so sorry. I took advantage of your kindness and now you’re-” Sergio stops when Iker groans, palms pressing into his eyes as he bends over.

“Stop,” Iker’s voice is thick and strained. It raises in pitch with every word until Iker is nearly yelling. It’s like his body is trying to force the words out of him and Sergio can only wish this had all been different. If it had been, Iker wouldn’t be sobbing and Sergio wouldn’t be stupidly in love with him. “Stop saying that. You didn’t- You couldn’t- I’m the captain,” Iker’s hands move to grip harshly at his hair, “I should’ve known better. It’s me- It’s my fault because I fell in love with you. I fell in love and fucked everything up. I’m the reason… I’m- I’m-” Iker’s shuddering cries fall over Sergio’s ringing ears, but even that doesn’t seem to affect the silence that falls over them.

Time seems to stop, but maybe it was just Sergio’s heart.

“What?” Sergio’s voice is barely even a whisper at this point, lungs too heavy with the burden of foolish hope to take in an actual breath. Iker sits up so fast, Sergio vaguely worries about his neck getting whiplash. His eyes are wide and wild, like an animal’s right before slaughter.

“What did you say?” Sergio asks, lips dry and fingertips tingling. Something akin to panic rests over Iker and Sergio can see how fast he’s heaving for breath. Sergio understands a little bit more and concludes that it really must be hard loving someone like him.

“I- Sergio, I-” Iker stutters and scrambles to find stability against the crumbling world around them.

“Are you,” Sergio licks his lips and static floods through his body, “Are you serious? Did you mean that?” He can’t stop the hope that boils up to his skin. He can’t stop the trickle of happiness at the thought that Iker’s in love just like he is. He knew Iker loved him, but not that he _loved_ him.

“I-I,” Iker stands up and stumbles backwards, feet tripping over the sheets that had fallen to the floor. Sergio reaches out and grabs him, however, before he can turn around and leave. Sergio’s hand tingles where it touches Iker’s skin and he realizes that it’s been almost a week since they’ve touched. The thought brings an ache deep from in his heart and it spurs him to pull Iker into a hug, arms tight and unyielding against Iker’s attempts to jerk away.

“Sergio, let me go. I need- I have to-” Iker tries to pull away halfheartedly, the tears and weight of confessing slowing him down and draining his energy.

“It’s okay- You don’t have to go anywhere because- because- I love you, too, Iker. I love you, too.” The words leave a trail of fire in Sergio’s throat in their wake, but it’s a good burn. It’s a safe burn.

Iker is motionless for a long time, but Sergio holds him through it. He holds him like he’s always wanted to; unapologetically and without the shroud of night to cover his tracks. There’s still a chance that Iker could pull away and leave, that he could take the piece of heart Sergio had unknowingly given to him long ago and leave him with nothing but numb fingertips and a bed that holds too many memories. The thought that Iker could still reject him makes Sergio hold on tighter and bury his face in the other’s shoulder, hoping with every bone in his body for Iker to catch him because nothing is scarier than falling for someone.

Sergio’s knees nearly give out when he feels Iker’s hands come up to grip at the back of his shirt, hugging him firmly. The sound of blood rushing in his ears almost drowns out the soft “holy shit” that comes from Iker, but when he hears it, Sergio laughs because, what else is he supposed to do?

It starts softly, with just a few chuckles, but soon, they turn into loud and rancorous laughs that bubble and bounce from his throat. They echo around the silent room and fill his chest until it feels like he’s feather light, but Sergio would take laughter over sobs anyday. He laughs until his sides ache and his lips tingle with the hundreds of words he never said. Somewhere along the way, Iker starts laughing too, spurred on by only the sound of Sergio, until they’re clinging to each other, howling with laughter and tears in their eyes. They laugh like mad men, their voices mingling together in the air around them. There’s no actual reason for their mirth, but they allow themselves to fall against each other, regardless.

They collapse on the bed, chests heaving and eyes damp; their hands brushing together delicately and eyes tentatively searching each other’s own. The occasional chuckle and sniffle escapes from either one of them at any given time, but it’s mostly quiet now. Peaceful. The silence helps heal the wounds torn open by their volatile love and own stupid self discrepancies. They still have a long way to go and a lot to talk about, but Sergio can barely think when Iker is looking at him like that; like he’s hung the moon and the stars themselves; like he’s the only dream he’s ever wished for; like lovers.

 _Like lovers_.

Later that night, when Iker is asleep against his chest, Sergio curls his hand into Iker’s own and allows himself to cuddle Iker like he’s wanted to since the first night he slipped into his bed. They didn’t do much talking after their laughter fit, but Sergio thinks that’s okay. They don’t have to have everything sorted out right now. Sergio’s heart is full of adoration and his arms are full of Iker and this, he thinks, is how they were meant to fall in love.

He flexes his fingers against the warm hold of Iker’s and smiles when he realizes that he can feel them.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enyojed this and if you did please as always leave kudos/comments because they truly kee my writer’s inspiration going. Also, go say hi at my tumblr (mexisco) and if you have any requests/prompts don’t hesitate to send them my way!


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